


I Of The Storm

by ennaira



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Historical, Multi, Pirates AU, The Little Mermaid AU, and kageyama is a captain of the royal navy, in which hinata is a mer-prince, inspired by the golden age of piracy, karasuno dateko and fukurodani are pirates, navy AU, oikawa is kageyama's half-brother
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-16
Updated: 2016-06-03
Packaged: 2018-06-08 19:10:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 19,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6869881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ennaira/pseuds/ennaira
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Hinata is a mermaid, Kageyama is an overbearing sea captain, and Daichi is a leader of pirates.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I Of The Storm

**Author's Note:**

> Huge thanks to my good friend arret_aerdna (minnarret on tumblr)! This wouldn't have been possible without her cheery advice.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prince and Captain Kageyama Tobio is a prodigy. At only twenty-two years old, he is a master of naval warfare and a victor of many sea battles, commandeering his ships as easily as moving his own body. But he does not know what it truly means to lead. 
> 
> This proves to be fatal, during a storm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Title is taken from this song by Of Monsters And Men. Befits Kageyama, in my opinion.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tlCkafSYNJI)

There was nothing more terrifying than the sea. Especially during a storm like this.

The waves rose up, crashing into the deck, half-drowning some men and shoving away the rest. Kageyama’s ship looked like a vision of hell itself—men groaning, crying, trying desperately to tug onto the ropes that held the sails together, their muttered prayers drowned out by the roar of thunder. The ship was tossed around by the waves like a mere plaything, and no man could stand on his feet without latching onto something. They were all shivering, even Kageyama in his captain’s jacket—and they were all terrified. All of them wondering if this was the last day they would ever be at sea.

 _No._ Kageyama grit his teeth. His ship had been through more terrors than this, other seastorms and the cannons of pirates. _They will survive if they are strong. They will survive if they follow me._

“Secure the riggings!” Kageyama shouted, his hands grasping the helm more to support himself than to steer the boat. His hands were trembling with fear and cold, but he shoved those emotions aside, because _I have to keep this ship alive._

In the dim light of the lanterns, he could see the foremast sail flapping wildly in the wind, making the ship turn east where Kageyama knew the storm was strongest. He focused his eyes on the shivering man slumped near its ropes. “Kunimi!” He shouted over the thunder peal, “Stand up and secure those cords!” 

Kunimi’s black head snapped up and glared, and Kageyama had half the mind to draw his flintlock and shoot him for insubordination—but eventually the slim man grudgingly followed his orders. 

Then Kageyama could feel it again, even in the cold of the storm—the angry glares, the whispers of _“king”._ It made him wonder if this was finally the day the foolish men would mutiny and stab him in the back.

But for now, Kageyama had greater worries. Kunimi secured the foremast and made the ship more or less stable, and Kageyama gripped the hard handles of the helm and wrenched them east, away from the waves and into the eye of the storm. The effort made him breathless, but despite it he kept on shouting his throat raw with orders. _Move faster! Fasten that cordage! Get off your asses and straighten the staysail!_

With every order Kageyama gave, he received ten glares and a mutter of _king._ But he knew his iron hand was the only thing keeping them alive. And in the end it seemed to be almost worth it, because he had driven them away from the treacherous waves and the ship was almost stable despite the icy seaspray and rain. Kageyama allowed himself a small smile, and his mouth tasted like salt and blood. 

That was when the lightning came.

Kageyama felt his skin prickle with static, and it hit before he knew what happened—a great flash that turned the stormy night into day for a split-second, leaving behind the smell of burning. 

His eyes and mind were still adjusting when he heard, _“the main mast was hit!”_

“What?!” Kageyama rubbed at his eyes and blinked, and his jaw dropped. The main mast, the most important sail of any ship, had its pole charred black and tilting at an odd angle. The great white sail looked like it was about to fall over, and if that happened—

 _I am not losing this ship._ “Secure its riggings!” Kageyama shouted. He narrowed his eyes against the rain and darkness, and saw how the pole was still tilting despite it being pulled. The gears in Kageyama’s mind shifted, and he realized that the pole’s black wound needed to be bandaged with ropes. For that, someone had to climb up thirty meters of unstable and burnt wood. 

Something in Kageyama balked— _this is too much to ask, he realized, but if I don’t do this, we will not survive._

“Kindaichi,” Kageyama called to his quartermaster, “Keep it from falling over, use the spare ropes by the nettings!”

The quartermaster by his side didn’t move, and Kageyama whipped his head to look at him. “Quartermaster,” he barked at Kindaichi’s silhouette, “I gave you an order!”

Kindaichi only scowled at him, his features twisted further by the dim light. “No!” he snapped, so loudly that Kageyama flinched. “No, I’m not following any of your stupid orders anymore—you’re ordering me to die!” 

Kageyama’s blood boiled at the insubordination, and he heard it again, the whispers of _king._ Before he could think it through, he drew the pistol from his side and pointed it at Kindaichi. In the flash of lightning he saw his quartermaster’s face clearly, full of shock and fear and something like hatred. Kageyama cocked the flintlock, its _click_ loud and clear even in the storm.

“I am ordering you,” Kageyama said, slowly and clearly, “to fix the mainmast.”

The look Kindaichi gave him was indescribable. And finally, he muttered a muttered a _“yes, sir”_ and walked down the helm’s pedestal. In the storm’s darkness and dim lanterns Kageyama could barely see, but when he heard the rustle of ropes and the mutters of _“good luck”_ , he knew that the quartermaster was beginning his climb.

It took time, and more of Kageyama shouting orders across his ship, but finally he saw Kindaichi’s form climbing slowly up the mainmast’s post, ropes slung over his shoulder.

Kageyama felt sick with tension—Kindaichi was at least thirty meters high, with cold wind whipping at him and the sounds of storms threatening to make him flinch and fall. He reached the charred wound, and Kindaichi wrapped his legs around the pillar, using his arms and the rope to keep him upright as he tied the thick cords in secure mariner’s knots.

And Kageyama was so focused on the quartermaster that he didn’t notice it—a great wave, rolling right towards the ship. 

Kindaichi finished securing the last knot when it hit.

The wave smashed into the hull, making the ship shake as if it were land in an earthquake—Kageyama stumbled, only his hold on the helm keeping him from falling flat against the floor. When he finally straightened himself and looked up, it was to the sound of horrified shouts.

Kindaichi was clutching onto the pillar with his arms and sheer strength, his legs dangling beneath him. 

Kageyama’s heart dropped, and around the main mast were some crewmembers shouting, pointing, some even praying. Mass hysteria was taking hold of the crew, of the ship, and even the captain.

Kageyama felt cold, colder than he ever felt in his life. A gust of wind knocked into the ship, causing Kindaichi’s hold to falter. He skidded down the pillar, a cry escaping him.

“He’s slipping!” Kageyama cried. “Someone help—“

Another wave crashed into the hull, and Kindaichi fell.

Time seemed to slow as he saw his quartermaster fall, his silhouette joining the darker shadows of the deck. For an instant, Kageyama could see every detail—every drop of rain, every crack of the sails, every line of fear on Kindaichi’s face.

And in his head, he could hear ‘this is your doing, king.’

Then Kindaichi fell, with a sickening crunch. 

Kageyama heard a scream, and ice stabbed him deep in the gut. Kageyama thought he was going to be sick. Tears were burning at his eyes, but they weren’t tears of sadness—rather frustration, and regret. _I should’ve been more aware,_ he thought, _I should’ve seen the wave, I should have..._

Kageyama shook himself and clenched his fists, his nails biting into his palms so deeply they almost drew blood. _What’s done is done,_ he told himself angrily. _Regret won’t fix anything. Keep moving._

“Steady the staystail!” Kageyama yelled, and his throat burned. “I’m taking this ship into the eye!”

In the shadows he could see someone crying over Kindaichi’s slumped form, shaking. Kunimi, he realized, and the crewman raised his head.

“You bastard!” Kunimi screamed. “Kindaichi just—“ he broke off, inhaling sharply. “All you think about is yourself!”

“All I’m thinking about is this ship,” Kageyama snapped back. He glared at Kunimi, and transfixed his gaze to the rest of the crew. “You can all mourn later when we’re not in a storm!”

It could have just been his imagination, but Kageyama felt a crackle in the air, as if the atmosphere changed—the way the crew was looking at him was with intent. As if they were all thinking, _we’ve had enough._

Kageyama drove the thought away and stood his ground. “Steady the staysail!” He repeated over the roar of wind. And the crew obeyed, oddly silent, their murmurs of _"king"_ gone.

And it felt like it took hours, but Kageyama did it. With his crew now obeying him with less fear of the storm, he managed to wring the helm of the ship farther west, bringing their vessel closer and closer to the eye. Waves rocked the ship and thunder continued to peal as if trying to stop them from reaching safety—but with Kageyama’s iron fist, the ship _Northern Storm_ made it to the eye.

It was surreal—how the eye was a round, undisturbed patch of sea, moonlight sifting through the clouds onto peaceful waves, when only a few leagues away it was Charybdis. Kageyama’s ship was now in the eye’s center, and he was slumped against the helm, catching his breath. He allowed himself this short moment of vulnerability, what with he had to go through.

When Kageyama finally straightened himself, he saw the view of the deck—drenched and grimy, with men slumping and shivering, their faces a mix of relief and depression. Near the mainmast, there were crewmen covering a body with a white tarp. And Kunimi and other crewmen were approaching Kageyama, climbing the stairs to the helm. There was an odd finality to the way their footsteps creaked against the wood.

“I know what you must be thinking,” Kageyama said when Kunimi was in front of him. “Rites will be performed for Kindaichi at daybreak, once the storm’s truly over and I’ve rested.” He straightened himself into an officer’s pose and regarded them coolly. “Is there anything else?”

“Yes, there is,” Kunimi said, and he took a step forward. “We’re not following your orders anymore, king.” 

Kageyama stared. No one said that to his face. _No one._ “You—“

“Grab him!” Kunimi snarled, and the crewmen lunged, grabbing Kageyama’s arms and pinning them behind his back before he could even register what was going on.

_Mutiny._

“How dare you!” Kageyama snarled. “I am your captain, your prince—!” He kicked back against the assailants, driving his heels into shins, earning groans and punches to his gut. For every one that let go, there were two that latched onto him, keeping him from attacking. _“Treason!”_

“So is acting like a king when you're not _king_ yet,” one of them hissed, poisonous and close to his ear. 

Kageyama thrashed, trying to throw them off, but to no avail—their grips were as tight as cords. He heard footsteps running behind him and a tight rope was fixed around his neck, its rough skin biting into his throat. Kageyama choked, his vision darkening, stuck in a painful state between consciousness and unconsciousness. He fought against the restraints feebly now, and distantly he could hear some crewmen chuckling.

 _So I was right all along,_ Kageyama thought, and he would have laughed if his body didn’t hurt so much.

Kunimi approached, his skin bone white in the moonlight, a flash of silver in his right hand. It took Kageyama some time to realize that it was a blade.

“Kunimi,” Kageyama managed to choke out, “think about what you’re doing.”

“I’ve thought about this for a long time.” Hate dripped off Kunimi’s words. “And the rest of us have, too.” He gripped Kageyama’s hair and set the dagger’s point at his collarbone, eyes full of spite.

“This is for treating your men like animals,” Kunimi snarled, and he slashed the dagger down, searing a line of scorching fire down Kageyama’s chest. Kageyama cried out, and he could taste blood in his mouth, dark and coppery. His head swam, _this can’t be happening, this can’t be happening—_

“This is for being the egocentric wretch you are.” The line of fire flared again, burning, running up Kageyama’s ribs when Kunimi drove the dagger through. Kageyama felt the warmth of his own blood through the pain, and only the rope at his throat kept him from screaming. Kageyama felt his eyes go watery, with pain from the wounds, and the betrayal. _Stop, please, I don’t want to—_

“And this,” Kunimi spat, clenching Kageyama’s hair and looking dead straight into his eyes, “is for Kindaichi.”

The dagger flashed for a brief moment before Kunimi buried it into Kageyama’s gut. 

There were no words that could describe it—the dagger felt like a point of fire and ice, freezing and flaming, twisting into his gut like a scaled snake until Kunimi wrenched the blade out, taking bits of flesh and blood with it. Kageyama’s knees buckled and the crewmen let go of him, and he fell against the damp floor. He wanted to cry out, to beg, but pride made him bite his lip and stay silent.

“What do we do with him?” One of the crewmen asked.

“Throw him overboard,” replied Kunimi’s voice. “His blood will attract the sharks.” 

The crewmen followed at once, seizing Kageyama roughly, half-dragging, half-carrying him to the starboard. _This can’t be happening._

He realized dimly that they were following Kunimi’s orders without complaint.

Kageyama’s head was right above the rail, and he could see the black water crashing at his ship’s hull, dark and demonic. A surge of anger suddenly possessed him—he was the captain, and a _prince,_ goddamit, he wasn’t going to be thrown off his own ship—

Kageyama shoved the man who was holding him, and drew his pistol with a shaky hand. His other hand was braced on the railings, he couldn’t even stand on his own—the crewmen noticed this, and laughed.

“Pathetic,” Kunimi spat. He approached, right into point-blank range of Kageyama’s pistol. “Do you even have enough strength to pull the trigger, King of the Storm?”

Kunimi slapped Kageyama’s pistol aside. It fell into the sea, its splash clear in the silence. 

“It’s been a pleasure serving you,” Kunimi said with a smile, and he shoved Kageyama overboard.

For a moment, Kageyama’s mind still swam with disbelief, with betrayal, until the sharp skid of the rail against his spine jarred him from his thoughts. He was airborne, the night sky rising above him perfectly clear, and then he fell into the sea with enough force to make his teeth rattle.

That was the first pain: the impact, the hardness of sudden collision that would no doubt leave him bruises, not that it mattered. Because next came the roiling cold, icy and stabbing him in every direction and dragging his head down into the water. And Kageyama realized, very suddenly, that he was going to die.

But the worst part was the bite of salt into his wounds, and before Kageyama could stop it—he screamed. 

His breath escaped him, rising up in the form of bubbles. Kageyama could see his ship’s hull clearly, getting farther and farther away—or was he the one getting away, being dragged by the current? His ship was far, and getting farther. Kageyama tried to kick towards it, but the sudden loss of air in his lungs made him weak, and the pain in his chest was _excruciating._ His lungs burned from lack of air, and he fought to not inhale water. And he was sinking. 

He clawed at the water, kicked, but he was still sinking, the moon becoming a pale coin above the veil of the sea.

His lungs burned and he felt tears in his eyes, but from the lack of air or the pain, he didn’t know. But despite the salt, the water was cool, and it was pulling him in deeper. It was almost welcome. 

The last thing he remembered was the rush of water around him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've aged the characters up to be 22 and up, and Kageyama's ship is similar to an 1812 United States frigate with white and blue sails. 
> 
> Don't worry, Hinata's coming! And comment comment comment let me know what you think eue


	2. Wily Comet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Isn't Hinata a wily comet? Streaking red and gold, flying across the air for a brief moment? Not just in this fic, but in the anime and manga, too. Heehee.
> 
> And: sailfish are the fastest type of fish.

To Hinata, there was nothing more beautiful than the sea—especially during a storm like this.

There was beauty in the chaos—the way the sky above flashed when lightning struck, the way the waves crashed with so much force that even those underwater felt its impact; the strong current that threatened to tear the seabed apart, stray fish and anemone being buffeted away. Only Hinata’s speed kept him from being blown away like the seaweeds below him. 

Most merfolk would be hiding under their seastone coves during a storm, but not Hinata—during the greatest naval wars and the strongest typhoons, he was there, out in the open, dodging lightning, strong currents and cannonballs. Because he lived for it—the feel of danger, the strong pulse of his blue blood in the action, the rush he felt when going up against forces stronger than him. It was the feeling of being _alive._

And should any of the seafolk see him now and wonder if he were insane, they would immediately see his red-gold tail, and the coil of golden shells and coins around his waist, and realize their wild sea prince was at it again. 

Hinata rushed forward, breaking through any currents that threatened to push him away. His speed rivaled even that of a sailfish, and a jet of water streamed from him like a second tail. A particularly strong wave was coming—he could feel it in the pressure of the water, the way his ears perked. 

When it crashed back into the sea, it sent a whirl of sharp coral flying. The corals looked sharp as urchins, and Hinata swam right into their path. He dodged them narrowly, grinning like a madman as he avoided them all like a fish dodging a foolish human’s hands. 

He swam up, up and up where he knew the waves were the most perilous, and when he broke through the surface of water cold wind slapped at his face. Hinata laughed at it, looking up at the dark sky. “Is this the best you can do?” he challenged. 

The sky boomed, as if making a grumbling reply. Hinata laughed again and vaulted himself over the air, the force of the waves pushing him up.

And for one, glorious moment, Hinata was airborne—the seaspray cool on his skin, the crashing waves like cheers and the wind rushing under him as if he were a gull taking flight. His hair blew back, and he smiled—this was what he loved the most: the feeling of flight. 

And then something caught his eye—a black, hulking shape, leagues away, with something burning at its pinnacle.

When Hinata splashed back into the water, he rose up quickly, and his suspicions were confirmed—the black shape was a hefty warship, the round holes by its side revealing cannons. But currently, one of its points was flaming—perhaps it was struck by lightning?

 _Lightning._ Hinata grinned. _Now that’s something I want to see._ He had seen the blackened glass on the seafloor made by lightning strikes, but he had never seen its flash up close, which the elders say was powerful enough to turn the Seastone City into rubble.

The ship was going west, away from the storm’s strength—perhaps it was going to fight in some naval war? A thrum of energy ran through Hinata— _I want to see another war_ —and he swam towards the ship, shearing a water current of his own. It didn’t take long until he reached its barnacle-spotted hull.

Hinata rose above the water, and his sharp ears picked up the sounds of cracking masts despite the thunder, of ropes being pulled and someone shouting commands. And then, Hinata heard a crunch, and a dead silence surrounded the ship.

 _What happened?_ Hinata wondered, and he craned his neck, aching to look up close— 

_“I’m taking this ship into the eye!”_

_So I’m right,_ Hinata thought. Still, he followed the ship as it went west, wondering what happened on its odd, hollow body. He dodged the water currents the ship carved, and sometimes raced the vessel—although Hinata beat it every time. He was nearing the eye of the storm—perhaps _in_ it already, it was difficult to tell without the sky—and the waters were as still as silt.

 _This is getting boring,_ Hinata thought, and he was about to double back when something dropped right next to him.

Hinata yelped and swam away in surprise. The bubbles cleared, and he saw that whatever fell was about the length of his forearm, steel and wood forming a shape like a curve. Hinata’s blood went cold when he realized it was a human gun, like the ones that had taken the lives of many of his ancestors. 

He looked up, wondering who had dropped it—and just right then, another thing fell into the sea, much larger and more terrifying.

A human.

He fell into the sea thrashing and screaming, and those screams Hinata heard. He winced, and he saw how the man was sinking, his kicks slowly becoming feeble, the last of his breath escaping him in the form of bubbles. Blood was surrounding him, flowing from his chest like translucent ribbons. Hinata could smell it—dark and coppery, like the iron ore in the seabeds. 

And then the human’s kicks finally stopped.

Hinata felt his heart skip a beat when the man went still—it was a pitiful sight. He had seen men die before, he had swum through battles in the past—but he had never seen someone die in so much pain.

 _Air,_ he realized, _humans need air._ Hinata swam forth to the man, wrapping his arms around the man’s chest. He made sure not to grip at the odd, red tears in his torso, and he swam up, pulling the stranger with him. Once he broke through the water, he didn’t hear any telltale gasps or inhaling, and Hinata wondered briefly if he were dead. 

But then he felt the hard beat of the man’s heart against his hands, and knew that he could be saved.

Hinata watched the warship sail away, quick to abandon one of their own—anger pricked inside Hinata, but he had other things to do than terrorize a ship. As one of the merfolk, he could feel the expanse of the sea like a sixth sense, where north was and where home was. He could feel where the sea ended, and where land began.

 _Land,_ Hinata thought. _That is where humans live._ And he swam towards the nearest shore he could feel, careful to keep the man’s head above the water.

It took a lot of time—so much time that Hinata’s arms were beginning to ache, and he wondered, _why am I doing this again?_ He swam through the calmer parts of the ocean, not wanting any waves to fully drown the man—and he passed by a siren, who raised her white eyebrows at Hinata before respectfully bowing and swimming away.

It took so much time that when Hinata finally dropped the man on the sand, the sun was already at the horizon. A gold line as bright as his eyes was breaking to the east, throwing color onto everything—onto Hinata’s tired, shaking hands gripping the sand, the blue water lapping at the man’s knees, and the shore.

It was a pretty shore. Pink sand stretched for miles, the aquamarine seawater kissing the shore. The soft tumble of water on the beach was pleasant, the cry of gulls a crystalline accompaniment. Farther up the sand’s shoal were shrubs and tropical trees, forming a green wall that prevented Hinata from seeing further. 

_What’s the view on the other side?_

It wasn’t the first time he had thought that. And the last time he did, Kenma had raised a brow at him and asked _“why would you ever want to know?”_

That was something his calm friend would never understand—Hinata had a thirst to see everything interesting, to feel everything dangerous; it was why he swam through storms and battles, and of course, went through the trouble of saving a drowning human.

Hinata tilted his head to look at said person next to him. The man’s dark hair was sticking to his forehead, and his expression was still pained, his lips bit and the sand beneath him staining red.

Hinata pushed himself closer and touched the man’s shoulder, meaning to turn him to his side in case there was still water in his odd human lungs. But the moment Hinata jostled him, the man snapped his eyes open.

Hinata yelped and flinched away, but the man was quick—he grabbed at Hinata’s wrist, eyes wild and beseeching. And the sea prince’s breath caught—his human’s were blue, darkly so, like the abysmal waters where the viperfish swam. 

_“Help me,”_ the man rasped, and there was so much pain in his voice that it washed away all of Hinata’s surprise. _“Please... help me—“_

“Be calm,” Hinata whispered. He cradled the man’s head in his hands, pressing the stranger to his chest the way he had seen the merwomen hold their children. The stranger shuddered and sobbed, hot tears dripping down Hinata’s collarbone. 

“It’s going to be all right.” Hinata stroked the man’s dark hair, so different from his own—the seawater tangled it and made it rough to the touch, unlike his orange locks that thrived in salt. “The sea won’t hurt you anymore.” He promised, taking a golden shell from his belt and pressing it into the man’s hand. Humans liked gifts, didn’t they? Perhaps it would cheer him up. “Everything’s going to be all right.”

The man’s shaking and sobbing eventually died down as Hinata stroked the man’s hair. Pity and compassion pulled at Hinata’s chest. To be left behind by your own comrades—what could be more painful than that?

Moments later, Hinata’s eyes saw a rustle in the trees beyond, his sharp ears picking up human speech. _Oh no,_ Hinata thought. He had heard of what happened to his kind when they were discovered—killed, or perhaps turned into a freak show and paraded beyond the shores. 

Hinata laid the man down, and he saw that his eyes had fluttered closed. He seemed to be in a peaceful sleep now, his expression more blank than hurt. Hinata gave him one last look—meaning to memorize every detail, everything that made him _human._ And then he departed, splashing back into the seawater. 

As he raced down to the depths, back to the Seastone City, he couldn’t help but feel the ache of his wrist where the man had gripped him tight. 

 

\--------------------------------

 

“Hey, hey, hey!” Bokuto cried out, staring at the man—a _navy captain,_ based on his uniform—lying on their beach. “What did the tide wash up?” 

“What’s he holding?” Tanaka asked, inching as close as he could to the stranger. “Is it _gold?_ ” He asked excitedly.

Ennoshita punched Tanaka in the arm before the baldy got any ideas of looting. “Call Suga,” he ordered. “And Asahi,” he added quickly, seeing the wounds in the man’s torso. “It looks like he’ll need a doctor.” 

“Are you sure about that?” Tanaka asked, cocking his head. “He’s an enemy captain, should we help him—?”

“Daichi decides what to do,” Ennoshita cut. “But for now—the Golden Rule is what rules our land, remember?.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Chapter title taken from this song by The Shins](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-DmuVLYfEoQ)
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> Next chapter, crows, owls and iron walls show up!  
> comment pls hihihi, I want to know what you guys think! :D


	3. King

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>  
> 
>   
> 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [This song + Kageyama = pain](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sZeVx_9au5g)

“Tsukishima, are you certain it’s him?”

“Do you know how many dark-haired people live on the archipelago? Of course I’m not completely certain. But I’ll certainly know once he wakes up.” Tsukishima frowned, regarding the feverish man below him. “If he wakes up, that is.”

 

 

It was always the same.

Kageyama was on his ship, clutching the helm with shivering hands. The sea rose, waves threatening to engulf them, and Kageyama screamed his throat raw with orders. And yet—

His crewmen were all still.

They stared at him with dead eyes, hateful eyes, Kunimi’s glare matching the sharpness of the dagger in his hand, a twisted body at his feet. And Kageyama’s mind was assaulted with questions— _why don’t they move? Why don’t they follow me?! They’ll die if they don’t!_

And yet they still didn’t follow him—as if they’d rather choose death than follow any of his orders again.

But the worst part was, Kageyama knew it was just a nightmare.

He tried to control it, to stop it, but he failed every time—it always ended with him drowning, the wave crashing and water closing around his throat hard enough to shock him awake. But when he snapped his eyes open, he was thrown into such a world of flaring pain—in his head, in his chest—that it wasn’t long until he fell back into fitful sleep. His last sight was always blurred figures above him, their voices hushed and antsy. The dream repeated itself over and over until it turned into a blur of fear and pain, cold like the deepest circle of hell. His wounds burned him like they were set alight, and Kageyama thrashed and cried out. _Help me,_ he whimpered, and he could feel strong hands on his shoulders trying to wake him up, but he was never awake long enough. His mind was stuck, bound, _sinking_ , like he had been thrown to the sea with concrete tied to his feet. The salt was stinging his wounds again, burning his body, and Kageyama screamed _help me, help me, help me—_

And something slapped his face.

Kageyama snapped his eyes open. 

His breath caught with the clarity of his sight, so different from the haze an eternity ago. His heart was pounding wildly, and his blood rushed in his ears, his face burning like someone had struck him. He saw a shadow move in the dim surroundings, so he looked to the side—

And came face-to-face with a monster.

Kageyama screamed.

The monster also screamed, and backed away too quick for Kageyama’s eyes to follow. Kageyama heard swears of _“oh no, oh no”_ and the banging of glass and ceramics. Kageyama watched with wide eyes the monster thrashed and fret, long brown hair falling away from its face and revealing a short beard.

Kageyama blinked. Not a monster, he realized, but a man, struggling to fix the medicine paraphernalia he had toppled.

Kageyama’s fear was immediately replaced with irritation. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?!” He growled, motioning to stand up—

And pain stabbed him hard in the chest. Kageyama bit his tongue to keep from screaming, and looked down.

His jacket—it was gone, replaced with a blue robe simply thrown over his shoulders, giving him a clear view of his torso. It was wrapped in bandages, and Kageyama didn’t need to pry further to know what was behind them. 

His heart pounded harder now, and a cold sweat was ran his back. A part of him—a foolish part of him, had prayed that the terrible mutiny was just a dream. _Except it wasn’t,_ he thought, shaking. _It wasn’t a dream—_

“Sir, it’s all right,” the long-haired man assured, approaching, “you’re completely safe—“

 _“Don’t touch me!”_ Kageyama snapped, slapping the man’s hand away. “Who the hell are you?” He demanded, “Where in God’s name am I?!” 

“You’re in Miyagi,” a voice behind him said, and Kageyama nearly snapped his neck turning around.

The one who spoke was a well-built man, the word _'leader'_ written all over him. He had coppery skin, perhaps under the ocean sun too much, and—to Kageyama’s great surprise and relief—he was wearing a Royal Navy uniform, brass buttons impeccable. 

He was glaring at the crouching, long-haired stranger. “Really, Asahi?” he said, before turning back to Kageyama. “I’m sorry about that—Asahi tends to frighten people the first time...” He shook his head and smiled warmly. “I am Captain Sawamura Daichi, and this is my outpost—my men found you about two weeks ago washed up on our shore, and I had Asahi Azumane,” he gestured toward the long-haired man, “treat your wounds.”

 _Impossible,_ Kageyama thought. _The last thing I remember is sinking, drowning..._ It was impossible that he did not drown, even more impossible that he would wash up on a shore of a navy outpost. _How on earth could I have survived..?_

Kageyama’s hands were shaking, he realized, and out of habit he clenched them. That was when a sharp pain bit into his fingers and he yelped—and dropped something gold.

It was a shell—pointed, gilded, and almost feral with the way its points flared like a flame. Its spikes had dug deep into his palm and cut several scratches, but—  
Kageyama was filled with a sudden calm when he saw it, and a vision of fiery hair and golden eyes flashed in his mind’s eye. _Impossible,_ a voice in his head said as he picked the shell up, but weaker this time.

Daichi’s voice shook Kageyama from his thoughts. “You’ve been clutching that since we found you,” he commented, a small smile on his face. “A good thing, I suppose—Tanaka would’ve stolen it if you hadn’t. He has this odd idea that a shell and fairy tale will help in getting Captain Saeko back...”

 _Sawamura? Saeko? Miyagi?_ The names were all unfamiliar to him, though it wasn’t surprising that he didn’t remember them. The Royal Fleet had thousands of ships and even more captains and outposts, given the war currently raging between Shiratorizawa and Seijoh. 

“You had conflict with the Violet Armada?” _Oikawa mentioned to me that often happened to our outposts in the south..._

Daichi nodded. “The battle took two of our best ships and damaged the rest—currently we’re all stuck in repairs.” He looked at the long-haired man— _Asahi,_ Kageyama remembered—and glared. “Aren’t you lucky, stubbley?”

The two continued to talk, but Kageyama had stopped listening. _Recent conflict means that this outpost is far—far enough to have scuffles with Shiratorizawa and far enough to not recognize me._

Not that it was surprising. Black hair and blue eyes weren’t exactly a rare combination, and he disliked wearing the heavy signet ring that distinguished him as a prince. It was going to be difficult to tell the captain who he was, but...

“When was the battle?” Kageyama asked. Perhaps this captain served under a vice admiral he knew—or better yet, served his brother, who could immediately confirm his identity. _And execute those bastards for their mutiny,_ Kageyama thought, and he clenched his hand that wasn’t holding the shell.

“I’m certain you have many questions,” Daichi said amiably, “but this is no place for a conversation. Asahi, help this man to the Big House—“

“I don’t need it,” Kageyama snapped immediately, slapping Asahi’s hand away. He stood up on his own shakily, gripping the dry wood of the wall. “Lead the way,” Kageyama ordered, because he was in full position to do so.

Daichi looked amused, but followed anyway. He turned back and pulled a curtain-door open, making light shoot into Kageyama’s eyes. He groaned, covered his eyes with his hands, and followed Daichi out.

If the light inside was harsh, outside it was absolutely blinding. Bright sunlight was enhanced by light soil, and Kageyama had to squint his eyes and wait for them to adjust to the sudden glare. When he could finally look around without his head spinning, Kageyama saw that it must’ve been high noon, judging from the broiling heat on his back, and that he must have been on the edge of the camp. Through the foliage, he could see the pink line of the beach and the sea—then he and Daichi began to walk.

The outpost was absolutely disappointing.

Kageyama was getting more irritated with every second that passed—the camp was poorly maintained, nipa huts with green starting to grow on them, wild grass and flowers beginning to grow on the sides of the roads. Even more, there were _no_ soldiers doing patrols, or simply drills! The few men that _were_ outside were not even in uniform, and shuffled past the captain without as much as a bow or a greeting—their lack of respect to the captain was starting to make Kageyama enraged. Even worse, they were all staring at Kageyama rudely and... _gossiped._

_“Is he the one?”_

_“Swallowed by the sea and spat back out. Look at his bandages!”_

_“How on earth could he have survived?”_

_“Must be mermaids.”_

_“Why would they save a guy with a frown like that?”  
_

Kageyama sent them jumping back with a glare. Then he wrapped the robe more tightly around his chest, making sure to cover his bandages.

Beside him, Daichi chuckled. “Don’t mind them,” he added nonchalantly, as if blatant misconduct of soldiers was nothing to sneeze at.

“Where are the rest of your soldiers?” Kageyama asked, scowling.

“It’s noon,” Daichi replied lightly. “They’re all probably taking a nap.”

_“What?!”_

“It won’t do good to have them faint from heatstroke, will it?” Daichi challenged, and Kageyama was about to reply _strong soldiers won’t faint_ when Daichi clucked his tongue. “You know, you shouldn’t get so worked up,” he said. “Your fever just broke two days ago, and we can’t have it coming back now, can we?” 

_What are you, my father?_

“And you lost a lot of blood, and your wounds are not near healed either. It’s only Asahi’s brilliance that kept them from becoming infected.” The two of them began to walk up a small hill, where a large hut was looming, flanked by palm trees and greenery. As they climbed up, Kageyama noticed two men were guarding its doors—a man with a shaved head, and a man with hair standing up like an owl’s. 

“What happened to you?” Daichi asked once they were underneath the shadow of the hut, a hand on the door. 

“What happened to your outpost?” Kageyama snapped back, and the spikes of the shell bit into him as he clenched his fists. _Good._ The pain cleared his head, became his only focus, his mind not wandering to a stormy night and a blade in his gut.

Daichi stared at him. “What about it?”

“Why aren’t your men in uniform?” Kageyama demanded, “Where are the soldiers running drills? Greenery is growing onto your camp and—“ he broke off, exasperated. “What kind of navy outpost is this?!”

“Ah, that.” Daichi rubbed the back of his neck and looked at the two guards. “It’s been so long, I forgot what an actual navy outpost is like, huh?” 

_What?_

The two guards flashed a smile at him, and Daichi fixed his gaze back on Kageyama. “The reason why it’s so un-military,” Daichi said, “is because it’s not a navy outpost.” 

Kageyama stared at him, and the cogs of his mind realized the conclusion right when Daichi spoke:

“We’re enemies of the crown,” Daichi said, still with that warm smile. “Pirates.” 

 

 

 

 

Kageyama wasn’t sure what he had meant to do—to lunge at Daichi and snap his neck, or to run away from him and his two guards. But whatever he had meant to do, he failed.

Kageyama had barely moved when the two guards had launched onto him, forcing his face to the dirt and pinning his body with their feet. He nearly cried out when he felt pain bite into his chest, but he was silenced when he felt the cold, sharp kiss of a blade to his neck.

Kageyama’s heart was hammering again, and his fists were shaking. A gold spike glimmered between his fingers— _can I use this as a weapon?_ —and Kageyama tried to move—

And the blade pressed in deeper. 

“Hey, hey, hey,” a voice said at his ear, “let’s not do something we’ll regret.”

 ** _“Bokuto!”_** The captain thundered above him, and Kageyama felt, rather than saw, the man on him look up.

“What is—oh god, oh god Tanaka he’s making that face—“ And the blade and weight on his back disappeared.

Kageyama choked out a cough, pushing himself up with shaking hands. When he stood, it was shakily, and the pain in his abdomen told him that both running and fighting weren’t options. 

_Shit._

Kageyama stopped the shaking of his hands by clenching them, and glared at Daichi. The older man only smiled apologetically and rubbed the back of his neck. “Sorry about that, those two get too fired up sometimes.”

Kageyama wasn’t fazed by his friendliness. He tightened his grip on the shell, pain sharpening his senses. “Are you going to kill me?” Kageyama asked. 

Daichi looked genuinely shocked—he blinked and stared, and finally he said, “I just want to talk to you.” 

_Talk me into joining your troupe, or talk me into revealing information about the navy?_ But Kageyama bit his words back—the last thing he wanted was to be thrown into the ground again.

Daichi seemed a little unnerved by Kageyama’s glare, but opened the door to the hut anyway. “After you,” he said, and they walked into the Big House, Kageyama as tense as a string.

It was a simple place, but it was spacious. The house was furnished with rattan chairs and tables, with flowers on vases and even a painting of fruit hung next to a staircase. Windows were all propped open, letting in a gentle breeze which did nothing to calm the pounding of Kageyama’s heart. There were two men seated by an open window, one of them blond and the other dark haired.

“Please take a seat,” Daichi said, gesturing to two chairs and a table. Kageyama sat down nearest a window, his tactical schooling already echoing in his head— _keep the sun at your back in battle, at all times._

Daichi sat opposite him, and Kageyama fought a flinch when the chair creaked under the pirate’s weight. A beam of sunlight filtered and landed right down onto Daichi’s chest, hitting a brass button with a sigil of the Royal Navy. 

_How dare you wear that,_ Kageyama thought, and he clenched his hands again.

“So you’re a pirate,” He hissed out. “What other lies have you told me?”

Daichi raised his hands. “I’ve told you no lies. I _am_ a captain, this _is_ my outpost, and my name is indeed Sawamura Daichi. You’re on Miyagi Island, which is right on the border, and about two-hundred people live here.” He scratched his chin. “I’m... somewhat in charge? The captains of each ship form a council, but the only rule we live by is the Golden Rule.” Daichi smiled. “There, no lies.” 

_Just an extreme omission of truth._ Kageyama scowled.

“Now, what about you?” Daichi asked, leaning forward slightly. “Everyone else has been wondering who you are, and if I don’t give them answers soon...well. I suppose they’ll be wondering who’s the freeloader taking medicine and Sugawara’s best robe.” And he laughed, lightly, as if to ease the pressure in the air.

It didn’t. 

Kageyama clutched the shell tighter. _They can’t know who I am,_ he realized, because if they found out he was a prince of an enemy country—execution was the least of his worries.

“I am... Toberu Katsumoto,” Kageyama managed to say without shaking. “My ship was separated from the Northern Fleet during a storm. We came across three Imperial ships, and were shipwrecked in the ensuing battle.” Kageyama supposed that was believable enough—his Kingdom had a war with the Empire to the south, and a skirmish between a lone ship and a small squadron was within the realm of possibility. “That’s where I was wounded.” 

“Really?” A voice by the corner said, and when Kageyama saw that it was the blond man who said it. He was approaching, bespectacled eyes glinting with mockery. Just looking at him made Kageyama want to punch something.

“Do you have any reason to doubt?” Kageyama challenged.

The blond man lowered his face and bore his haughty eyes into Kageyama’s. A challenge indeed.

 _“Tsukishima,”_ Daichi warned, but the man didn’t pay him any mind. Just continued his calculating, haughty stare.

“You look familiar,” Tsukishima remarked. Kageyama fought down a shiver, squeezing the shell. Tsukishima noted the gesture and smirked.

“I’m right, aren’t I?” Tsukishima asked. “You are Kageyama Tobio.” 

Kageyama felt like he was doused with cold water. _No. No. No._ His hand tightened on a spike, and pain shot up his arm, but he could barely feel it in his numbness. “How—how did you—”

The blond man shrugged. “What, you mean you can’t remember me? I served under you for some time on the _Golden Strike._ I can’t believe how the crew tolerated you then, because I definitely couldn’t. Ah!” Tsukishima looked up as suddenly remembering something. “I suppose they mutinied because they couldn’t take it anymore, eh?”

“How did—“ The words died in Kageyama’s throat, replaced by anger. _“Who told you that?!”_

“Ah, so that _is_ what happened.” Tsukishima adjusted his glasses, shit-eating smirk still on his face. “I wasn’t completely certain. Thank you for confirming.”

Kageyama couldn’t even speak. His face burned hot with shame, and his fists were trembling—the line of warmth trickling down his palm told him he had finally cut his left hand. _Shut up,_ he willed. He wanted to get away from this place. He wanted to cover his ears and not remember what happened to him. He wanted to bash in Tsukishima’s face.

“Oi,” Daichi cautioned. “Tsukishima—“

“What’s this?” Tsukishima asked, leaning forward and placing his hand on the table. “The King of the Storm silenced by a peasant—?”

Kageyama’s vision went red, and the next thing he knew he was standing up, his torso screaming in complaint and his right hand gripping the collar of Tsukishima’s shirt. _“Don’t call me that!”_

“So the rumors _are_ true,” Tsukishima said, and by his tone you’d think he was reclining on the beach. “You lose it when someone calls you King—“

“Tsukishima.”

It was Daichi’s voice again, this time in the firm tone that left no room for argument. Tsukishima glanced at Daichi once, before clicking his tongue and taking a step back.

“He’s a cruel noble, and he only thinks of others as pawns,” Tsukishima said, eyes narrowed at Kageyama. “You’re wasting your time, Daichi.”

“I’ll be the judge of that,” Daichi said as Tsukishima turned on his heel and walked out, the dark-haired individual following close by. Once the door clattered closed, Daichi sighed. 

“I’m sorry about that,” Daichi said as Kageyama sat back down. Kageyama did his best to not make his winces obvious, and he hid his hand that was pressed against his abdomen. When he looked down at it, he saw that it was stained red. “Tsukishima loves to insult and rile people up—he has a terrible personality. However,” Daichi broke in, “he is rarely wrong.”

“You’re a cruel noble,” Daichi continued. “I’ve heard stories of ‘the King of the Storm’ from the traders—how he nearly shot down some of his own ships in Coral Bay, just to win.” Daichi narrowed his eyes, and Kageyama couldn’t help it—he looked down. “How he often works his soldiers to death, just to win. How he would kill insubordinates swiftly, just to win.

“You’re a cruel noble, and everyone on this island has suffered too much from cruel nobles like you. Many of my men will want to kill you once they find out who you are, do you understand? Even more want to ransom you to your father to get enough gold for medicine and food—something I want to do, if I’m to be honest.” Daichi closed his eyes briefly and sighed. “But you see, I’m going to do neither. Do you know why I became a deserter, Kageyama?”

Daichi laced his hands in front of him and stared at them, big, calloused things that had definitely held many ropes, turned many helms. “I was in Seijoh’s Royal Navy, just like you. And a captain, just like you. But unlike you, I was an ordinary soldier from a peasant family, and thus I was just a captain of a small ship in the rearguard.

“It was terrible. The higher-ups were cruel on me, on my soldiers, not even giving enough medicine to one of my gunnery sergeants. He died of fever, and they wouldn’t even give us enough time for a proper sea burial. _‘Because there’s a battle on the morrow,’_ they told me, as if that were any comfort.”

Kageyama bit his lip, because he found himself agreeing with the officials. _Keep moving,_ his father had told him, _keep moving._ It’s war, men will die anyway, no use crying. 

But Kageyama had followed those orders his entire life, and look where that got him. 

“And there _was_ a battle the next day,” Daichi added, “and it was even worse. When the Empire was cutting us down, there were no reinforcements, because _we_ were the reinforcements. Twenty of my men died on the deck that day, and even when the officials saw my ship being blown to tatters...” he sighed. “They just ordered me to keep attacking. To keep fighting. They were ordering my men to die. 

“Sugawara—my helmsman—he nearly broke down when they kept on pressing the attack. But the Seijoh navy won, for what it’s worth. And on the last day of the month, they gave me a pouch of gold and looked at me like it was more than I deserved. And that was when I knew I had enough. I took the men I trusted the most, the men who I knew deserved a better life than that hellhole, and stole _The Crow._ ” 

Daichi sighed again, pinched the bridge of his nose. “Why did I ever join the Navy in the first place? To work my ass off for ten years straight, and yet be nowhere near the monthly pay of a flagship captain?” He shook his head. “And all because we don’t have a noble name pasted onto our foreheads.”

A long silence followed after that, Kageyama unsure what to say, Daichi still stuck in the past. In the light, Kageyama could see his face clearly, the lines of stress and age becoming more prominent. He was probably just thirty, or nearing it, but what he had gone through made him look much older.

Kageyama knew he should probably say _‘I’m sorry’_ or _'I understand’,_ but neither of those things was true nor helpful. Instead, he asked, “What is it you want from me?”

“I want this system to change,” Daichi answered. “I don’t want people to be forced to join armies and navies just because of poverty. And you, heir-to-the-throne, are the one man who can change it. But of course,” he added as an afterthought, “if I let you go now, you will simply be as mindful of the commons as you are mindful of your own men.”

Kageyama’s face burned. “Get to the point,” he grit.

“I want you to know what it’s like, to live in poverty. I want you to understand what serving is like—what it is to claw your way up with work, not a noble name.  
“Live among us for a year, understand these things and I promise you, by the summer of next year, I will send you off on a ship to the capital filled with supplies for the journey.” Daichi placed a hand on his chest. “I swear it by everything I hold sacred.”

Kageyama stared at him, mind whirling. “That’s... it?”

Daichi nodded, and smiled. “But if you dare to stab my men in the back and escape on a stolen ship, I will catch you and feed you to the sharks alive. Do I make myself clear?”

Kageyama didn’t understand it. Daichi was smiling warmly, head cocked slightly, yet he looked more terrifying than Oikawa on his worst day. A chill ran through Kageyama as he said, “Yes.”

“Yes, captain.”

“Y-yes... captain.” Kageyama managed to choke the words out, and Daichi seemed satisfied enough. He stood up and Kageyama did the same, wincing when pain shot through his chest. 

If Daichi noticed, he didn’t say anything, for which Kageyama was grateful. “Head back down to the healing hut,” Daichi said, walking toward the door and opening it. “Asahi will tell you your duties once you’re fully healed.”

Kageyama nodded stiffly. _A year,_ he thought, walking out of the door and into the sunlight, _only a year. I can make it._

“Kageyama!” Daichi called as he walked down the hill. Kageyama turned his head to look at him, squinting in the sunlight.

“You won’t make it alone,” Daichi said. “There’s a reason why ships have crews, you know.”

Kageyama tightened his hand on the shell, and continued to walk.

 

 

Tanaka watched the man leave. “Do you really think this will work, Daichi?”

Daichi crossed his arms, face pensive. “This is the only way we can really change things. So I have to believe it will.”

 

 

 

That night, the nightmare was different.

He was on his ship, the thunder and lightning roaring like dragons. And the great, dark wave was coming. Kageyama shouted orders, his mind twisting to find a way for survival, but when he looked around—

No one was there. 

The ship was empty, except for him.

So Kageyama rushed, doing everything on his own but futilely—the wave was coming, ominous, and Kageyama felt more fear than he ever had in his life. His heart pounded as he ran from rail to rail, adjusting ropes and spinning the helm, and yet his ship did not move an inch. _I can’t do it alone,_ he realized suddenly, and regret—sharp regret, pierced his chest more painful than Kunimi’s dagger. _Oh God, I can’t—please come back, I’m sorry, I—_

When he woke up, Kageyama’s mind was ringing with that thought. _I can’t do it alone._

It was dark in the healing hut, and cold. The sea wind went through the bamboo wall like a knife through paper, and Kageyama shuddered, curling on the cot. He was shivering badly, but he knew it was more because of the dream than of the chill.

 _“There’s a reason why ships have crews,”_ Daichi had said. _“You won’t make it alone.”_

 _I can’t?_ Kageyama tightened his fists. _Like hell I can’t._ It was what he had been doing all this time—when he captained his ships, he was alone, the only conversations he had in a day were the commands he gave. And that was just how he liked it. 

And whatever the stupid dreams were telling him, Kageyama knew he could lead a ship alone. He had the talent, he had a fleet and he was a _prince,_ and he—and he—

He loved it. 

He loved the feel of the ship moving on his command, the men obeying his orders, the seaspray on his skin and the thrill of outmaneuvering an enemy through his hands on the wheel.

But it wasn’t steering a ship that made Kageyama love captaining—it was shouting out the order of _“fire!”_ and watching with satisfaction as the cannonballs broke through the enemy ships. 

Calculating between the speed of his ship, the angle of his sails, the position of the enemy vessel—it gave him a rush like nothing else. The only reason why he was a captain and not a gunnery sergeant was because normal captains were too slow—they couldn’t see openings in the enemies like he did, and wasted them. The captains—the crew—if they were only faster, stronger, pushed their limits more—

Then the King of the Storm would never have been born. Kageyama had let that crown be placed on his head to make his crew better, that was really was the reason... but in the end, that wasn’t what he achieved, was it?

_Move faster! Reload the cannons quicker! Fire on my command— **on** it, not after!_

Kageyama buried his face in his hands, shame piercing his gut. He hated thinking about it, hated it, but—

He had to admit it to himself, didn’t he? The crown on his head had lost him a battle—his most important battle, and the only tarnish in his faultless record. And it had only been six months ago.

The weather had been calm that day, but the seas were made chaotic by the navies of Shiratorizawa and Seijoh. At Kageyama’s front, the great warships of the south with their maroon sails, and at his back, the ships of his kingdom in all its might. Their white masts had flurried, doing the fleet’s nickname justice: _The Northern Storm._

Kageyama had smiled, then. His heart had been hammering with excitement—he was an admiral, the youngest ever, and effectively the _King_ of his kingdom’s storm. His brother Oikawa was behind him in his green-mast ship, ready to enforce his orders across the entire fleet, and...

It was rumored the great Ushijima Wakatoshi was present in the enemy fleet. Somewhere, in one of those violet warships, the man nicknamed _‘the Sea Eagle’_ was waiting to launch his attack.

Instead of fear, Kageyama felt fire. Ushijima was said to be the greatest admiral in the land— _and if I defeat him, I become the best._

But instead, Kageyama had become the worst.

The stories about Ushijima were true—he was brilliant, breaking through their strategies with sheer force, his ships destroying the northern vanguard in instants. Ships were on fire, men were drowning, and in Kageyama’s pressure, agitation, _frustration_ —he had lost control.

His orders became reckless. His orders became impossible to follow, but still he pressed his crew to obey. _Fire! Fire! Reload faster, goddammit!_

_“Sir, Oikawa wants you to retreat!”_

_“What?!” Is he a coward? We haven’t lost yet! “No! Keep firing—!“_

_“Sir.”_ That serious voice had been the helmsman. _“The rest of the fleet is retreating.”_

And Kageyama looked behind him. The fleet was indeed retreating, leagues and leagues away from his ship, leaving him behind. No one was there to follow his orders anymore.

And Kageyama wasn’t a fool. He knew that he couldn’t take on an army alone. And so he followed swift after the fleet— _those **cowards!**_ —and had a conversation with his brother he would never forget.

_“Oikawa! How dare you order a retreat behind my back like that?!”_

_“Ushijima is too strong. If I didn’t order it, we would have all been slaughtered.”_

_“No, we wouldn’t have! I—“_

_“I,”_ Oikawa had snarled. _“I, I, I.”_ He rounded on Kageyama and gripped his shoulders tight, fingers digging painfully into his collarbone. There was a fire in his brother’s eyes—a _hatred_ —and for the first time, Kageyama felt afraid of his brother. 

_“Do you think the talent of one man can change an entire battle? When you’re out there, Tobio, you don’t fight alone!_

_“I saw the way you ordered those men. All you thought about was yourself and of how great it would be to defeat Ushiwaka! Did you even think about the other ships?!”_

His fingers were turning into claws. _“Oikawa—“_ Kageyama began, but he was cut off.

 _“You nearly hit some of our own!”_ Oikawa shook his head, disappointment writ on his face. _“Tobio, you have talent! You can go farther than anyone on the archipelago can! But you—you’re butchering your potential!”_

That was when he had let go, his expression tired.

 _“Tobio, let me tell you something,”_ Oikawa’s voice was serious, his tone one Kageyama could never forget. _"One prodigy in an army makes no difference. But one ordinary man who can bring the best out of every vessel, every crewman— **he** will bring victory.” _

It wasn’t long until Kageyama’s father in the capital heard of the news—from his generals, the helmsmen, and finally from Oikawa, all repeating the same thing: _we cannot go to battle with a man like him._

Not even a week passed since he returned home, and Kageyama was stripped of his rank. Shamed. Everywhere, the commoners were whispering about the story of the prince’s bitter defeat. And it got to Kageyama’s mind—one day, when he heard the whisper of _‘King of the Storm’,_ he snapped and nearly stabbed the man who had said it.

Oikawa became the admiral of the navy, and it only rubbed salt further into Kageyama’s wounds. He screamed at his father, at his brother, and then finally at himself for being _weak. I lost my title to a bastard with no talent!_

Oikawa’s words turned into poison in his head. _Become a man who can bring the best out of his crew?_ Kageyama had thought. _Fine. I can be that._

And so he had tried, and tried, anger fueling him more than anything else. But he had failed in the worst way possible, and it was only now that he understood why.  
 _  
“He’s a cruel noble who only thinks of others as pawns.”_

_“He would shoot down his own ships, just to win.”_

_**“Self-centered King!”** _

Kageyama ran his hands through his hair, gripping the strands so tight he could almost tear it away. If he could change the past, he would. If he could go back in time and scream at himself to be more sensitive, to have more of a heart, he would. Anything to stop the mutiny from happening, from winding up on this island full of enemies, because _I can’t do it alone, I can’t do it alone..._

But now he was all alone.

Tears formed in Kageyama’s eyes, and for the first time in years, he let them flow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FIRST OFF--thank you, thank you, thank you to all the people who left kudos and comments! You guys really made my week bright and motivated me! Especially **YugiSchiffer**!
> 
> I'd just like to tell y'all I'm pretty knew to the HTML-ness of Ao3, so if you see something odd, please just tell me!   
> Now, on to my main points:
> 
> 1.) I am so, _so_ sorry the update took this long. It doesn't usually take me this long to write, it's just that the past week I was at a friend's, then I had a bunch of chores, and my brother kept hogging the laptop... *sigh*. But definitely, next updates shouldn't take this long! 
> 
> 2.) I realized that I did **not** want to "whitewash" the naval aspects of this story. So I researched about 1700s-1890s Japanese Navy (another reason this took so long haha), so please imagine that kind of ship! (Like the one above.) Because... imagine Kageyama in Japanese Admrial uniform. Oh my gosh. Yes. [ Like in this amazing piece of artwork that made me think of Kageyama and Oikawa as brothers.](https://pp.vk.me/c624128/v624128891/2786b/0lxKIZIK2b0.jpg) (Done by the amazing [ @fujofi! ](https://twitter.com/fujofi))
> 
> I'll do my best to paint the picture as much as possible, but please visualize 1880 - 1890 Japanese Navy ships and uniforms (tbh they are similar to the French ones, and the reason why is rather interesting, actually...)
> 
>  
> 
> Admiral Oikawa coming up soon eue. This brother au hits me so hard.
> 
> Please **comment comment comment!** I live off your comments eue


	4. Grieving Cain, Lone Abel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> bastard (n.)  
>  _archaic, derogatory_  
>  a person born of parents not married to each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> can you tell I'm a game of thrones fan?

Oikawa remembered the first time he met his brother.

It had been twenty-one years ago, him three and Tobio barely one. The palace had been dark and grieving over the queen’s death, and wary of the arrival of the king’s taboo child. 

Oikawa didn’t understand it then—the way his mother covered her face with a fan and looked down as if ashamed, the way everyone scowled at him and muttered ‘bastard’. Oikawa didn’t understand, because he was too busy staring at the little child in the white bundle, his black hair like a tuft of raven down. It was a blurry memory, but a fond one.

A fond one, like when Tobio was beginning to speak—the little thing would point at Oikawa and say, _“O-kawa!”_

 _“Oikawa,”_ Oikawa would correct, but he giggled as he did. 

Tobio would struggle and struggle— _“O...i...kawa!”_ he forced out, _“O-i-kawa!”_

_“Oikawa-onii-san!”_

_“O-i-kawa...onii—onii—“_

Tobio’s face became red from exertion, and then he began to cry. The wetnurse would snatch the baby away and glare at him, but Oikawa was too busy laughing to care. And that was how the young Oikawa discovered one of his favorite pastimes: picking on his little brother.

He did it often, reveling in the way Tobio would screw his face up and cry, or screw his face up and scream. His mother often scolded him for it, and so did Iwa-chan, it was only when Iwa-chan started hitting him for his cruelty did Oikawa stop.

...And even though Oikawa often picked on little Tobio, he turned into a monster when someone else did.

When Tobio was six, Oikawa discovered him crying in the palace gardens, curling himself into the crevice of a tree. His clothes were torn and covered in dirt, his tear-streaked face red, but he wasn’t crying noisily—it was silently, with hiccups, and that was how Oikawa knew his brother was seriously hurt. 

_“What happened?”_ Oikawa had asked, curling his arm around Tobio although his fists were shaking in anger. _Who did this?_ He remembered thinking. _Who did this?! Tell me, and I'm going to beat them up for you._

 _“Father,”_ Tobio had said, and Oikawa had understood immediately.

The king was a good man, a good leader, and kind—but there were times when he just... _snapped._ After losing his wife, after losing a leg in battle, the king turned short-tempered and obsessed with turning his children into the soldiers. He often sat his two sons down on the throne and told them lessons, sometimes too harsh for young ears, and hit them when they began to cry. Oikawa could recall too many times where he had comforted Tobio due to their father’s harshness, and when Tobio had blinked away tears and stiffened his shoulders.

It was truly their father to blame, for the way Tobio had turned out—his impatience, his obsession with perfection, it had all started in those lectures in the throne room. Perhaps Oikawa should’ve stepped in—told his brother not to believe their father and his words of only the strong deserve to live, to think for himself, to have more compassion toward others—

But Oikawa had been afraid. He had been angry. 

Because, just a few years after that, Tobio’s potential began to shine.

At only fifteen, Tobio could defeat the palace’s best guards with a sword, could outthink even the great Ukai in naval strategies, could command a ship and calculate cannon trajectories better than the most experienced of captains. He was brilliant— _a prodigy,_ as their father would often proclaim—and he would only go on to be perfect. And Oikawa had been jealous. He realized that Tobio was getting everything he wouldn’t—fame, a throne, and his father’s pride. _All because he’s a trueborn son! All because he’s lucky enough to have talent!_ Oikawa had screamed with frustration then, and wounded his hands from clenching them too hard. _Has he even worked **at all** to be where he is?! _

Which was why, when he saw Tobio slowly destroy himself with his self-centeredness, Oikawa did not stop him.

When Oikawa saw his brother slowly go insane in the battle against Shiratorizawa, he did not step in—he became a devil’s advocate, watched his brother destroy everything he worked for, to put Tobio in a bad light. When Tobio had stormed to him after the battle, Oikawa had purposefully goaded him with a challenging advice, and watched as Tobio turned even more obsessed with perfection than before. 

_Which is why I have a hand in his death,_ Oikawa realized, his hands shaking. _If I’d stopped him—been less selfish—been a better brother—_

Would Tobio still have sailed with the Northern Fleet during the storm?

The news of death came to Oikawa when the storm subsided, when the Northern Fleet had docked at the southernmost port of the kingdom. Oikawa had been relieved—he was in charge of the fleet, and he had been assured by all captains of each ship that there were no lost ships, no casualties. 

That was, until Kunimi entered his cabin.

Oikawa had been writing in his captain’s journal with a featherpen when Kunimi entered, face pale and expression drawn. The dark-haired man looked so out of place in the lavish cabin with his pained expression, his dourness clashing against the light of the great windows and the painting of the palace gardens. 

“What is it?” Oikawa had asked, not looking up from the journal.

Then, without warning: “Your brother is dead.”

Oikawa had stared at him, uncomprehending. “...what?”

Then Kunimi began to explain. “We were separated from the fleet by the waves,” he was saying, “we got thrown into the strongest part and the quartermaster—he fell from the mast. Then there was a great wave. It washed over the ship, and afterwards we couldn’t find His Highness...” The words muddled together in Oikawa’s ears, turning into nonsense of _‘we searched for hours’_ , _‘we were forced to abandon the eye’_ and _‘I am sorry for your loss.’_ All meaningless except for one thing: _my brother is dead._

The quill snapped in Oikawa’s fist. 

“Get out,” Oikawa hissed, standing up.

Kunimi blinked. “Sir—?”

 _“Get out!”_ Oikawa screamed. _“Get out before I kill you!”_

Kunimi didn’t need to be told again. He bowed quickly, muttered a _‘sir’_ , and exited the cabin, the rosewood door making a dull _thud_ of finality.

It was completely silent, except for the sound of Oikawa’s breathing and his hammering heartbeat. It was too quiet. _Too quiet,_ he thought, so he grabbed the vial of ink and smashed it against the table.

The glass shattered, the sound harsh and jarring to Oikawa’s ears. _Good._ The harshness of it cleared his head, stopped his mind from thinking of Tobio drowning, of his little brother clawing at the water as if he could climb it upwards—

Oikawa screamed and drew the sword at his waist. It unsheathed with a shriek of metal upon metal, and he slashed the blade into the priceless table, over and over, scattering bits of stained-black rosewood and journal papers into the air. There was ink and wood pulp all over the blade, but it didn’t matter to Oikawa. _My brother is dead._

_It’s all my fault._

Oikawa screamed again and slashed the blade down, into the desk, into the captain’s chair, not stopping until he had broken it down to bits of wood, as if that could ease the pain somehow. He sliced through the fabrics of the carpet and the curtains, pierced the books with his steel, imagining that all of those things were him because _it’s my fault, it’s my fault, it’s my fault—_

Tobio had been good to him. He had been an obedient little brother who supported Oikawa, who glared at anyone who dared call him a bastard. Tobio, despite his egoism, had been kind to Oikawa, comforting him when their father was too harsh, or when his mother became sick. Tobio, who helped Oikawa prank Iwaizumi when the urge seized him.

Tobio, who was now dead. 

_Because of me._

The room was all torn up, the beautiful painting of the palace gardens slashed. His arms were burning from exertion, and tears were streaming down his face, but Oikawa could barely feel it in his numbness. He heard the door bang open, and someone shout his name, but it was as if the sound was coming from far away. Oikawa raised the sword again, wondering what the saber would feel like when he ran it through his hand—

_“Oikawa!”_

Someone stepped right in front of him, strong hands gripping his wrists. Oikawa fought back immediately, his vision blurry with tears—he blinked them away, and his sight focused on the man in front of him, a brown-skinned man with spiky hair.

“What the hell are you doing?!” Iwaizumi shouted at Oikawa. Oikawa struggled, trying to get his wrists free, but Iwaizumi tightened his hold. “Stop it!” he growled, but he faltered when he saw the tears on Oikawa’s face. “Why are you...what happened?”

The sword clattered to the floor and Oikawa crumpled, shaking. He would have fallen if not for Iwaizumi catching him, holding him tight with his arms around his shoulders. “Oikawa..?”

“Tobio is...” Oikawa shivered, curling in on himself further. “Tobio is dead.”

Iwaizumi froze. “Kunimi just told me,” Oikawa continued in a shaky voice. “In the storm, Tobio was—there was a wave—“ he broke off, choking on tears and guilt. _“It’s all my fault!”_

“What are you talking about?” Iwaizumi demanded. “It’s not your fault—“

“Yes it is!” Oikawa screamed back. “You remember when I was younger? I was so jealous of him, I wished that he was dead, out of the way so I could—“ Oikawa shook his head, burying his face in his hands. “I was—I was so jealous of him, but I’m stupid, I’ve been luckier than him all this time—“

It was only now that he realized it—despite him being labeled a bastard, Oikawa had a happier childhood than Tobio. He had a mother who cared for him, who would kiss his wounds and sing him songs when he went to sleep. He had a best friend, Iwaizumi Hajime, who would keep him company and make him laugh. But all the family and friends Tobio had was his overbearing father, and his brother who was jealous of him.

His brother was alone, he had always been alone. _I should have been there for him—_

But it didn’t matter now, did it?

“Hajime—“ Oikawa began, trying to speak but he couldn’t. He just stayed there with his hands pressed to his eyes, his body shaking and tears running down his face, his mind thinking _what have I done?_

Iwaizumi rubbed circles into Oikawa’s back with a gentle hand. Oikawa knew that he must have been shocked too, Tobio had been a part of his life as well—but he was keeping it all contained, making Oikawa his first priority. Oikawa shuffled towards him involuntarily, his body knowing that it could find comfort from Iwaizumi.

“It’s going to be all right,” Iwaizumi promised, his usually strong and strict voice now soft. “It’s not okay now, but eventually...” he trailed off. 

There was a long silence, broken only by Oikawa’s bitten-back cries. Iwaizumi shifted as if to leave, but Oikawa grabbed his arm tightly. 

“Please stay,” Oikawa pleaded, and he felt like a small child again, huddled in his mother’s arms and crying. “Y-you know how I get, so please...“

Iwaizumi nodded, and Oikawa felt the movement against his shoulder. “Of course I’m not leaving you, dumbass.” Iwaizumi tightened his grip on Oikawa. “You know I’ll never leave you.”

“Thank you,” Oikawa whispered, and he buried his face against the crook of Iwaizumi’s neck.

 

 

It was only now that Kageyama truly fathomed the length of a year.

Ever since that talk with Daichi in the Big House, and ever since Kageyama finally managed to convince Asahi to allow him to work instead of spending days on end inside a healing hut, Kageyama’s days became painfully... _long._

Kageyama woke up early, and wolfed down the bread and fruits Asahi always left him. Then he walked out of the hut and to the eastern part of the island, where the broken ships in need of repairs were docked.

Captain Daichi was not kidding when he said that everyone was focused on repairs—even though Kageyama woke with the sky barely lit, there was already a great bustling in the camp, most people heading toward the shipyard. On the pink beach, six ships were lined up—each of them in a state of destruction. There was a ship with a masthead of a great, horned owl, and it had its hull cracked and all of its masts broken down into splintered poles. Another was a ship with an oaken spirit woman at its bow, and its rails and deck were bits of wood riddled with gaping holes. _The work of cannons,_ Kageyama thought, remembering what Daichi had said about a battle with Shiratorizawa.

The only ship that seemed to (marginally) survive the battle was a sleek, black ship, its long bowsprit making it look as aerodynamic as its crow masthead. It was an impressive ship—satisfactorily armed, with at least forty twelve-pound cannons and long-range artillery poking through its hull like sharp feathers. But there was a large slash along its hull, running from the bow to the stern, jagged and hinting that it had been damaged by the famous chain-shots of Shiratorizawa. 

Kageyama sighed. _Going against Shiratorizawa with only three ships?_ They never would have stood a chance.

There were three more ships on the beach, too, but they looked like repairs had been given up on. Grime and moss riddled their bowsprits and masts, and barnacles were growing in the submerged part of the ship. They looked like charred corpses, black with their ashes streaming below, everything about them spelling _dead._

And of course, the pink beach was filled with people too.

And Kageyama hated it. The pirates would always stare at him and whisper behind their hands, or blatantly talk about him as if he weren’t there. And even worse, Daichi had placed him to work under some ill-tempered baldy, who Kageyama now knew was Tanaka Ryuunosuke based on the conversations of the people around him. Tanaka seemed to have a personal grudge against Kageyama, glaring at him and making an intimidating face. And he only seemed to get in a worse mood when Kageyama just brushed him off, concentrating on his tasks.

Kageyama hated the silence. It was something he and his brother had in common, because when it was silent, that was when his worst enemy came out—his own mind. His own thoughts attacked him, making him regret and regret and _regret,_ which was useless, _regret can’t fix anything now—_

 _Worst enemy indeed._ And so Kageyama worked, hammering nails harder, tying cords tighter, the loud sounds clearing the demons from his head. He got wounds on his hands and bruises, and he felt a twinge of pain in his chest when he twisted too much, but the pain was helpful. It cleared his senses long enough to be able to go through the day without his mind poisoning him.

That was, until dinner came. Once the sun had set and the stars were out in their brightest, all the pirates journeyed back to the center of the island. They were all talking away their aches from the toil of the day, all laughing and sharing the light spirit of camaraderie. And Kageyama felt out of place, itchy in his own skin, like there were eyes staring at the back of his head.

The people here... they were almost like a family.

At dinner, the crews of each ship huddled around their own firepits, though sometimes they shared, and other times they just sat where they wanted for the hell of it. They exchanged stories as they ate, their amusements sweetening the bread and meat in their hands. They were like a family, and Kageyama was just a shadow who would darken their moods. He knew that.

So when Asahi handed him his share of bread and meat, Kageyama took it and went down to the beach. Not the eastern side with the shipyard, but to the north, where Kageyama knew he was washed up.

The calm breaking of the waves was refreshing after the loud noises of the day, and since he was tired, the demons in his head were tired as well. Kageyama ate his meal in silence, then washed his hands in the sea before going back to the healing hut—which he supposed was “home”, for now—to get to sleep.

His days repeated like that, a dull monotone of waking, working and silence. If Kageyama had thought he would go insane before, from being cooped in the healing hut for so long—he certainly was going to go insane now. 

It was just so _quiet._

Kageyama had never been the most talkative of people, but he never went through _days without speaking._ He never thought he could miss conversation so much—at most, he just greeted Azumane—but whenever Kageyama tried to approach someone (even just for questions) he would immediately get a glare and a _“go back to work.”_

This went on for days, and _days,_ and his only comfort was when he went down to the beach.

Kageyama didn’t even know why he liked coming here. Maybe it was because... the sand was soft and the waves sounded the same, so if he just closed his eyes he could imagine he was home, resting on the beach after a long day of training soldiers.

Kageyama frowned slightly, thinking. _The last time I did that..._ he had been training Kunimi’s regiment. Kageyama wondered what he was doing now—how was his ship? Did Kunimi make it back to the main fleet? If he did, what would he tell Oikawa? Those thoughts made Kageyama’s head hurt... just like that odd memory in his head.

He had thought about it so many times that it was now a blur, a whirl of fiery hair and golden eyes, and a golden shell being pressed into his hand. Kageyama looked down at that golden shell now, where it glinted at his palm. _Was it just a dream?_

 _Questions, questions, and more questions._ Kageyama sighed.

“Don’t just stand there,” he said. “It’s creepy.”

Kageyama heard Asahi yelp, and when he turned his head he could see the man disentangling himself from foliage. Kageyama sighed internally—he would have heard Asahi even if there had been eagles screaming, the rustling he had been making was _that_ noticeable. But then again, espionage was not something a six-foot man would excel at.

“Sorry!” Asahi called out when he finally pulled his feet from the vines. He neared Kageyama, sitting down at a respectable distance of a meter away. 

For moments, the only sounds were the waves until Asahi spoke up. “It’s scary, isn’t it?”

Kageyama looked at him.

“Well, I suppose you wouldn’t be scared,” Asahi said, and he gestured toward the sea. “The nearest navy outpost of Seijoh is fifty leagues away, filled with ships that would pounce on us if they discovered we were here. And to the south,” Asahi looked back toward the camp, “Shiratorizawa’s ships ready to attack at a moment’s notice.”

“We’re on the border,” Kageyama stated, because he wasn’t sure what else to say.

Asahi nodded. “Miyagi island used to be the southernmost outpost of the navy, always attacked by Shiratorizawa. When we came upon it, it was... empty. Maybe all the men deserted? Or did Ushijima kill them all?” He shrugged. “Either way, it’s been a good home to us. But Shiratorizawa and Seijoh are never far—so Aone is always on patrol on his ship, the _Iron Wall._ ” Asahi grinned and pointed to the horizon. “You know, if you have a spyglass and you’re in the right place, you’ll see the iron figurehead of his ship.”

 _...Okay._ Kageyama continued to stare. “And you’re telling me this because..?” 

“Nothing,” Asahi said, dropping his hand. “I just... I wanted to tell you that if you ever wanted to talk—I’m here.”

And suddenly, all the frustration, all the agitation that Kageyama felt burst out like water breaking through a dam. _“Talk?”_ Kageyama challenged. “How will that help me? Can talk bring my brother here, or fix my situation, or turn back time? Can chatter fix _anything?_ Do you even _understand_ what I’m feeling?”

 _Shit._ The questions sounded like a threat. _And now you’ve done it,_ Kageyama berated at himself. _The only person on the island who’s willing to talk to you and now you’ve insulted him. Brilliant socializing, dumbass._

And now Asahi was going to go away, give up on him like every person with a working mind. The man was biting his lip, uncertainty on every line of his face—but to Kageyama’s surprise, Asahi didn’t look like he was going to leave. He only looked up at him, dark brown eyes beseeching.

“I understand,” Asahi said. “Somewhat,” he added hastily, and he looked down and began to draw on the sand. “Recently, important people have been taken from us—the entire crew of the _Rolling Thunder,_ Captain Saeko, and... a man named Nishinoya.” 

Kageyama stared at him. _‘Saeko’s ship was captured,’_ Daichi had said, and he remembered the tense way everyone worked on the ships—everyone possessed a taut air of urgency, almost as if they were trying to fix the ships quick enough to get to somewhere fast. 

“And I can’t help but wonder what’s happening to them right now,” Asahi said. “Are they in a prison camp? Where they... executed?” He shook his head. “My mind is raided with questions and I regret so many things—but I’m stuck here on the island, and I can’t fix anything except broken hulls and masts.”

That was all too familiar to Kageyama. 

The silence passed again, long and uncomfortable, and Asahi sighed. “Yeah, I know—it’s probably an anthill compared to what you’re feeling right now, I suppose I really wouldn’t understand.” He smiled apologetically and rubbed the back of his neck. “But—know that even though I don’t understand, I don’t want you to be alone. I _am_ here—and I’ll help you if you need it.”

“It’s getting dark,” Kageyama said suddenly. He stood up, brushed the sand off his legs and looked down at Asahi. And then, a bit forcefully, a bit hesitantly, Kageyama offered his hand.

He had never been good with sappy words—or even just normal words. Kageyama never had that brilliant charisma and vocabulary Oikawa possessed, so he just tried to convey his message through his gesture, his stare. He supposed he should smile, but Asahi might just get frightened—

Asahi took his hand with a smile and stood up, pulling on Kageyama’s hand a bit. Before going back to camp, they shook hands briefly, and Kageyama felt a bit lighter than he had before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oikawa and Kageyama as brothers hits me every time im cri
> 
> I did my best to think of how Oikawa would still have his characteristic jealousy, but how he would also act as Kageyama is his little bro, after all. I tried to balance it out, please tell me what you think about Oikawa-onii-san! 
> 
> And I have to say, writing a sleepy a-day-in-the-life-of-kageyama-tobio is... not easy. If you didn't like how the second half turned out, I'm sorry--but don't worry! It won't happen again. The second half of the chapter was more of there just to show what Kageyama is doing, because next chapter...
> 
>  _ **MERMAIDS.**_ Hinata, Nekoma, and the magic transformation will show up!
> 
> Also, I believe in Asahi and Kageyama friendship. The two of them can form the #ScaryFaceSquad with Aone. Oh and by the way--the reason why Kageyama's kingdom is in the north is because "Kitagawa" means "Northern River".
> 
> Please **comment comment comment!** I really want to know what you think! And if you've got anything you want to see in this fic, let me know, I might put it in! :
> 
> Oh, and if you haven't noticed-- Oikawa and Kageyama process their pain the same way. They both cannot stand the silence because of the "demons in their head" and they use pain to clear their senses. This is because they were brought up by the same douchey king. Just a little tidbit I wanted to use to reinforce the brotherliness.


	5. the sky beneath the sea

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was hard :c  
> using Andersen verse for mermaid stuff--their lifespans reach 300 years according to him

Hinata had read several human books on his kind, and _gods_ , were they really far off from the real thing.

First off, no, his kind did not eat humans. Nor did they have green hair or webbed feet, or drowned sailors for the hell of it. Well... not _anymore,_ at least, but that was beside the point.

And though Hinata wasn’t exactly sure what the word defined, he knew that his people were beautiful. 

The seafolk were an elegant people, with their skins the color of mother-of-pearl. They glinted in the water as they swam, and their waists ended in long, slim tails that had enough power to break corals. Where Hinata lived, the seafolk often wrapped their waists and tails with golden cords and golden shells, showing off rank and wealth, and would sometimes wear whalebone weapons on them. Currently, Hinata could see mermaids and mermen calmly swimming beyond, and some laughing children raced around the seastone towers of the city. Yes, his people were beautiful.

And sometimes very, very annoying. _Like now._

“Hey, hey, hey!” Kuroo called out. “You’re mind’s wandering again. Thinking of the human, are we?”

“I am not!” Hinata protested. _How many times will they tease me for that?!_ He wondered, awkwardly deflecting a blow from Kuroo’s sword. Kuroo’s blade missed his neck by a hair, but he didn’t allow Hinata the victory for too long. Kuroo slashed again, slashed and slashed down at Hinata’s head, and it was all he could do to keep his sword up and block every hit. 

This was a routine for Hinata every day. He would be instructed in the art of the sword by the captain of the royal guard. He would be instructed, and though Hinata knew he was getting better... he was beaten every time.

 _Not this time,_ Hinata thought. _This time, I win._ Their bone swords flashed white with every swing, and the sound was beginning to grate into Hinata’s ears.

“Think fast!” Kuroo shouted, and from slashing down he swung his blade up, right for Hinata’s torso—

And Hinata swam back, the bone blade missing him by an inch. Kuroo frowned. “Can’t say that’s not effective,” he said, twirling the bone sword at his hand, “but I was expecting you to block that attack.”

“Speed is more my profession,” Hinata replied, adjusting his grip. The seafolk used swords with one hand, and now his right arm was beginning to shake. The training circle was hidden away in the palace gardens, thank _gods, _he didn’t want anyone to see his shame. The heir to the throne, beaten back to the circle’s edge with his back to a rock. The circle was lined with tall rock-pillars neatly arranged by Hinata’s sister in her spare time, and he wondered if Natsu would shout at him if he knocked a couple of them down.__

Kuroo noticed where he was looking, and grinned. “All right!” he called out, lunging for Hinata with his sword outstretched. “New lesson for today—resourcefulness!”

And with his blade pointed at Hinata’s chest, he knocked some stone pillars with his black tail. They fell, kicking up rubble and sand and forcing Hinata to move to the center, where Kuroo was waiting and smiling like a demon.

Then Kuroo lunged. Their swords met with a _clack_ of ivory on ivory, Kuroo rushing with blows as Hinata blocked them, impact jarring up his arm. He bit back a cry and tried to press forward, but Kuroo shoved him back with another hit.

“Oh, come on!” Kuroo groaned as Hinata blocked a blow to his tail, “Are you even trying to win?”

 _Win._ Hinata grit his teeth— _training’s over when you knock me out of the circle,_ Kuroo had said, and that was what they agreed on. “Come on!” Kuroo said again. “There’s a lot of stones here! Use the environment!” He punctuated each statement with a sword thrust, ones Hinata narrowly avoided.

And that was when Hinata decided to become serious. He rushed at Kuroo with a shout, and when his blade missed he used it to knock down another pillar. Stone fell, right for Kuroo’s head, and for a moment Hinata was afraid—

Kuroo knocked the stone aside with his sword, a dull _clang_ resonating when bone hit rock. The round stone hit the sand with a quiet _thud,_ as if it were embarrassed to even think it could hit the captain in the head.

“Did you think it would be that easy?” Kuroo asked in that arrogant tone of his, his smile becoming more and more infuriating by the second. “I’m not captain of the guard for nothing, you know.” 

His smile disappeared, and his golden eyes became serious. _Crap,_ Hinata thought, and Kuroo lunged.

The captain was faster now, _stronger,_ and Hinata could barely keep up with his strikes. Every parry Hinata put up became slower, weaker, the sword becoming heavier and heavier in his hands. Hinata’s back hit the rough of a stone pillar yet Kuroo kept advancing, the blows of his sword possessing no mercy. 

“Use your surroundings!” Kuroo shouted again, and Hinata thought, _fine!_

Just as Kuroo was about to swing his sword down again, Hinata closed his eyes, spreading his concentration to the water around him. The water near him was in a flurry, turned chaotic by Kuroo’s strikes and would no doubt be difficult to control. But behind Hinata, beyond the pillars—the water was still and calling to him, ready to obey his command.

Right when Kuroo’s blade was about to hit, Hinata jerked his hand into a fist.

The water rushed forward in a torrent, slamming down stone pillars and hurtling into Kuroo’s chest. It sent the captain flying, and Kuroo slammed into rock and fell to the sand, eyes wide. His arm was half-buried in sand and his sword had fallen somewhere along the way, sticking in the seabed next to Hinata. Then Kuroo blinked.

“Oi, no fair!” Kuroo called out, pushing himself up. “Only the royal family can use water magic!”

“Well,” Hinata said, “you did tell me to use my surroundings.” Grinning, he picked up Kuroo’s sword and threw it. Kuroo caught it and sheathed it into his scabbard, grumbling slightly.

“Ha-hah!” A voice boomed, accompanied by a resounding applause. Hinata turned and saw two friends—a tall one with ashy hair who was still applauding, and a smaller one who had his arms crossed.

“Lev! Kenma!” Hinata perked up immediately. He rushed to them, sheathing his sword a little clumsily into the sealskin scabbard at his side. He nearly knocked into Kenma, who backed away with only the slightest of flinches. Hinata nearly laughed at seeing the two of them together—they were opposites incarnate. Fearless Lev, all pale hair and long, pale tail, with a looping silver belt to boot, everything belying his colorful personality. Next to him hovered Kenma, whose fire red tail, blond head and quiet demeanor clashed against Lev’s even though they were just next to each other.

Hinata hugged them both—even Kenma returned it strongly—then he asked, “How long have you been here?” 

“Just got here!” Lev proclaimed, just as Kenma said, “quite some time.”

 _Crap,_ Hinata thought, looking at Kenma nervously. “Uhm—“ He began, but Lev broke in.

“That sparring was amazing, Shouyou!” Lev cried out. “I thought for sure you’d be beaten back into the sand again, like always—“ Hinata bit back a wince, “But you went _bam!_ with the water, eh? Amazing!”

“Amazing _cheating,”_ Kuroo interjected, joining them. 

“I don’t see how it’s cheating,” Hinata pointed out, pouting. “I mean—in a real battle, what’s to stop me from using my water magic to give me an edge?”

“Nothing,” Kenma muttered. “But relying on your magic too much in training will make you weak in a real fight.” His golden eyes flashed to Hinata’s. “You’d better learn how to fight without it before using it.”

“Attaboy, Kenma!” Kuroo cheered, bumping against Kenma’s shoulder playfully. The blond slouched further. “And it’s not like you’ll be really powerful with your water magic. Only the royal princesses and queens can conjure up whirlpools and whatnot.”

“I can still drive your rear into the dirt,” Hinata quipped, and Lev went _‘oooooh!’_

“Only when you’re cheating,” Kuroo retorted, ruffling Hinata’s hair. “Hey, isn’t it about time for you to bother Yachi?”

Hinata ducked from Kuroo’s hand. “I’m not _bothering,”_ he defended, and he didn’t bother fixing his hair—the damned thing was always sticking up anyway. “I’m just asking if she could get me to talk to Kiyoko!”

Lev crossed his arms, looming over Kuroo’s shoulder and grinning. “’Bothering’ is when you ask it repeatedly. Which you have.”

Hinata was about to retort, when Kenma tugged at his arm and pointed to the direction of the seastone towers. 

Far away, between the black-blue-gold spires of seastone and thin crowds of seafolk, there was a familiar flash of blue tail and golden hair.

Hinata swam forward with a powerful slam of his tail. He briefly heard Lev swear and Kuroo yell about turbulence, and then he was off, rushing in the water like flung spear.

This was why Hinata could tolerate Lev’s joking catcalls of _“shrimp”:_ Because Hinata was faster than Lev, faster than anyone—even Kuroo who was the top soldier in the army, even sailfish that were the fastest water creatures in the world. Hinata was so quick that in the water he almost looked like a red and gold blur, and his tail streamed a current of its own. He was so fast that the water he split apart were small, powerful waves, and that was why he knocked some mermen over as he rushed over to Yachi. He sped past an elderly mermaid who screamed at him when his speed caused her wig to fall. Hinata only turned to face her and winked, and she immediately became red when she realized she had screamed at her prince. 

The old merwoman began to bow and mutter an apology, but Hinata wasn’t listening. _“Yachi!”_ He called as he swam past, seafolk bowing in his wake. “Yachi! Yachi!” 

Yachi turned her blonde head right when Hinata almost barreled into her. He managed to flick his tail strongly and somersault in the water, leaving himself just hovering above Yachi—but that didn’t stop the mermaid from screaming and clutching her sharkskin bag to her chest.

“Aw, Yachi.” Hinata mock-pouted and tilted his head. “Don’t you know me better? I’d never slam into anybody.”

Yachi was pressing a hand to her heart, her face weary. “It’s just that—you scared me—“

“Never slammed into anybody?” A voice called from behind Hinata. “Lies!”

“Oh, Kuroo!” Yachi greeted, and it was indeed him, Lev following hotly on his fins and Kenma trailing behind. “Why aren’t you in uniform?” Yachi asked, tilting her head.

“Sealskin is stiffer than it looks,” Kuroo answered. “And besides, I’m off duty, remember?” he raised a brow and smiled.

Yachi slapped her forehead. “Oh, no... I forgot!” 

By the time Hinata finished training, Lev and Kenma also finished their own soldier drills. That was when the four of them decided to meet up in the seaflower-filled palace garden and exchange the stories of the day while nibbling on sweetened seaweed... but sometimes Yachi was busy, working under Kiyoko, and—

“I’m sorry!” Yachi cried out, bowing before Hinata and Kuroo. “I’m sorry, I’m—“

“It’s all right,” Hinata reassured, patting Yachi’s shoulder. “Really, it is.”

Yachi straightened herself and nodded. “O-okay... I’ll join you in a bit, I just have to get this stuff to Kiyoko—“

“I’ll come with you!” Hinata perked up at the mention of _Kiyoko._ Finally, a meeting with the court sorceress—maybe he’d finally be able to bring up the idea about letting him see the land!

Yachi eyed Hinata’s practically glowing face, and hesitation flickered on her expression. “Hinata... is this about the land thing, again?”

Hinata grinned. “You know me too well. Yes, it is!”

Kenma, now at Hinata’s shoulder, sighed. “Why do you want to go on land so much, Shouyou?”

Hinata rounded on him, too quick to answer a question he thought about constantly. “Because I want to learn,” Hinata said, and though his voice was still light, there was a serious edge to his words. Because he meant them. “I want to know what it means to risk your life, to rely on your soldiers as much as they do you. I want to know what it’s like to earn a position through sweat and toil! And—“ He gestured wildly, “I will not learn any of those things stuck here!”

“Yeah, right.” Kuroo snickered. “You just want to captain a ship.”

Lev coughed something that sounded like _‘Little Giant’_ , and Hinata’s felt his face prickle in embarrassment.

He remembered the day he saw that little ship. He was younger then, and though mermaids didn’t process time the same way as humans, he supposed it was a long time ago for the land-dwellers. The sun had been harsh, the sea had been chaotic, and Hinata had been on the waters watching as gigantic ships pummeled each other with iron cannonballs.

It was a human battle, and despite his speed Hinata had almost frayed his nerves in his frenzy of dodging the ships and their projectiles. It was nerve-racking, when a ship suddenly steered into his path and he needed to swim away; and exhilarating, when he narrowly avoided the hot iron falling into the water.

And Hinata had been shocked when he saw a small ship join the fray.

It was almost ridiculous, how it quickly sailed to the vanguard as if it could stop its comrades from being crushed... but the thing was, it _did._ Due to its small size, the little ship was faster, and could sneak into the holes of the enemy’s defense and fire, dodging other cannon fires while it did. Hinata could only watch with wide-eyed wonder as it brought down ships twice—no, _thrice_ its size! It also seemed like the presence of the small ship rejuvenated its black-masted comrades, and the battle became fiercer. Black-masted ships began turning the enemy into wreckage, the little ship leading it.

And that was when it became hazardous. Projectiles were starting to ram the waters, and one of them came dangerously close to Hinata—and he wasn’t a fool, he knew when to swim away when it was too dangerous—but before he did, he memorized the golden letters on that little ship’s hull.

_The Little Giant._

And since that day, Hinata had wondered what it was like—to control such a ship, to exchange volleys of cannonballs, to be in the unstable battlefield of the sea. He wondered, _what’s it like, to go against foes so much bigger than you?_

Kuroo cocked his head and grin. Hinata regretted ever telling him the story of that ship. 

“Alright,” Hinata grumbled, “maybe it’s a bit because of the Little Giant! But it’s not just that! I also want to improve myself—a test by fire, know what I mean? Pressure is what makes a... diamond?” That was a direct quote from one of his tutors. “Yeah, pressure’s what makes a diamond! And I don’t have pressure here!”

“Go down to the deep and you’ll find it,” Lev suggested, and Kuroo laughed. 

Hinata huffed. “Guys...” They never would understand—the static environment of the palace, his tutors, and Kuroo—they weren’t enough for him. The desire in him to keep moving made him need a stir in his blood. He wanted constant, exciting changes in his everyday life that forced him to adapt—because when he was under a lot of pressure, that was when he truly learned, that was when he truly honed his skills. _And that is when I truly feel **alive.**_

And yet people kept on brushing him off...

“Hinata,” Yachi interrupted, shaking him from his thoughts. “There’s a reason why I haven’t been telling Kiyoko about your crazy request! If the humans find out you’re a mermaid—“

“They won’t!” Hinata proclaimed. “I’m a very good actor!”

“—and if Kiyoko will even use her magic on you! We don’t know if she’ll even agree to it!”

Hinata grinned at that. “Well then,” he said. “Let’s go find out!”

And grabbing Yachi’s hand, Hinata sped for the court sorceress’s cove. Kuroo and Lev shook their heads and muttered jokes, while Kenma said something about going to sleep.

* * *

The Seastone City was a spindling place of seastone towers and seaweed gardens, located at the falling slope of the seabed. The Sealord’s Palace was right at the tip of the slope, just over the deep trench, beautiful spires of gold and seastone twisting together to create a palace. The entrance to it beckoned like an open hand, elegant rises of metal and stone making it look like the blooming petals of a seaflower. 

But that was not the way to the court sorceress.

Despite being a member of the court, Kiyoko of the Clearwater—and the rest of the sorceresses before her—preferred to base themselves nearer to the deep. Hinata heard that it was because the geothermal heat below aided them in their magic, but Hinata suspected they stayed there so they wouldn’t be bothered by merfolk looking for quick solutions for their problems. _Or maybe they just want to be mysterious._

Whatever the reason, the slope leading down to Lady Clearwater was _scary._ The way down was dark and it loomed before Hinata like an open mouth— _an open mouth waiting to eat me,_ he thought, and he shivered.

Yachi giggled next to him. “I was the same too.” She squeezed his arm reassuringly then swam ahead. “Don’t worry, it’s not so scary after this...” 

Yachi reached into her sharkskin bag and drew out a fistful of green crumbs, crushed bits of stiffened seaweed and algae. She threw it toward the dark slope, whistling.

Nothing happened. 

“Uh...” Hinata stared at her. Yachi’s face didn’t have a shred of doubt, which only added to his confusion. “Um, I don’t think that’ll work—“

“Shh!” Yachi’s face was brimming with excitement. “Just watch,” she said, pointing a hand to the darkness.

Hinata did—a little reluctantly, the damn deep did frighten him a bit—but then his eyes widened when he saw little pinpricks of light flicker alive at the bottom of the slope. The blue pinpricks multiplied, and multiplied, spangling across the dark water like stars peeping out of the sky. Hinata cocked his head when they seemed to be coming closer—then he realized they _were_ approaching. 

“Firefish!” Hinata realized. Indeed, they were firefish—little angelic things, flitting about with their almost-transparent fins. They nipped at the dark sand where Yachi had thrown her fish feed, their lights illuminating the sinking slope. Hinata saw that the slope was not the dark flatness he thought it would be, but it was riddled with shells and clams and the occasional starfish.

Once the fish were done eating up, they surrounded Yachi and nipped at her hands and tail. Evidently, they knew her. “They’re the ones who light up my path so I can get to Kiyoko,” Yachi told Hinata when she saw his confused look. “Can you do it for me again?” she asked, turning to the luminescent fish nibbling at her fingers.  
And the creatures spoke back—the seafolk and the fish of the sea could speak to each other, but not in the usual way. Instead, a mer-person would make their intentions clear through tone of voice. Then the seawater—in its beautiful way of channeling the creatures of the sea to each other—would act as a medium, as if it were making the intangible thoughts of a mermaid tangible.

Then the fish would respond, not through words, but through the same way a mer-person had spoken, the water rippling from the fish carrying a feeling of _‘yes’_ or _‘no.’_

That was what happened now—Hinata felt the agreement of the firefish, and immediately the creatures headed down the slope, lighting up the path like the stars at night. Yachi squeezed Hinata’s arm again, and the two of them followed.

It was becoming darker the more they got down, and the fish lit brighter and brighter. The number of clams and starfish were lessening, but ocean floor geysers were popping up, releasing hot water that prickled his skin. And right when Hinata was certain his skin would be cooked, the firefish stopped—right in front of a cave covered with a seasilk curtain. It seemed to be lit from within by a blue glow.

The fish nibbled at Yachi’s fingers again before darting away. “Thank you!” she called after them, then turned to Hinata. “Let’s get inside.”

She pulled back the curtain and entered, Hinata following suit. The cave was... _homey,_ despite its exterior. The walls held elegantly carved swirls painted gold, and at the floor were bright seaflowers looking like multicolored starbursts. The splashes of color made the narrow corridor bright, but eventually the walls widened and led to a circular room. It was riddled with bookshelves and cabinets, all of them filled to the brim with tomes and strangely shaped bottles. There was a huge table at the center, shaped like a shell... And in the middle of it all, a mermaid with black hair. 

Hinata blinked. He had heard rumors of the beauty of the court sorceress, but he never thought she could be this beautiful. 

Her long, dark hair framed her face and fell over her ivory shoulders like a curtain. She wore a violet dress of seasilk, and it floated around her like the bell of a jellyfish, and her face—Kiyoko’s face was as finely chiseled as a statue’s, but flushed with color, pink lips and dark blue eyes surprising against her paleness. She even had a beauty mark next to her lips.

Her dark blue eyes flicked to him. Hinata blushed.

“I, I—“ _Oh gods, oh gods. I think my head’s going to explode—_

Yachi brushed past and handed Kiyoko the bag, jarring him. 

“Here is the stuff you asked for!” Yachi stated, her hands shaking slightly. She was blushing almost as badly as Hinata was. Kiyoko took the bag, tilted her head, and smiled.

Hinata nearly fainted. Oh my gods. He heard more speaking, but he couldn’t quite hear, _oh my gods Kiyoko is so beautiful—_

“Hinata!” Yachi called, and Hinata shook himself. Don’t embarrass yourself! He reminded himself sternly.

“Y-yes?” Hinata asked, trying to sound composed and failing. The look Yachi was giving him said, _‘I understand what you’re feeling.’_

“Lady Kiyoko was asking what you were doing here,” Yachi told him.

Hinata managed to look at the court sorceress without suffocating, this time. She was looking at him with a blank enough expression, but was that... amusement he saw in her eyes? He cleared his throat nervously before speaking. 

“I’ve been meaning to ask, my lady, if—“ _woah, too formal._ “I mean, have there been any instances in the past when—“ _aren’t you dodging your real point?!_ “If—“ _I think I’m going to die._

Yachi pumped her fists. “Fight, Hinata!”

Hinata bit his lip. _Oi, oi, calm down, Kiyoko’s not that different, you’ve got the same great-grandma..._ Kiyoko was Hinata’s— _second? Third?_ —cousin, but... though she wasn’t much older she seemed like it. Once she had come of age, she began to study the craft of water magic under the experts, the females of the royal line—Hinata’s far-off aunts and grandmother. Mature company had an effect on Kiyoko, and she acted very composed and calm for such a young mermaid.

_How pressuring._

Hinata sucked in cold water. Just say it. He closed his eyes and opened them, focus and determination taking hold. 

“Is there... is there a way for one of the merfolk to take on a human form?” Hinata finally asked, and Yachi flashed him a thumbs-up. 

Kiyoko stared at him for a moment before nodding. “There is,” she said, and her voice was more melodic than a singing bird. She turned to a shelf and pulled out a small box of lapis lazuli. “The Band of the Havfines,” she stated. “Are you familiar with the ancient wars?”

Hinata blushed again. He disliked history, and always slept in the middle of lessons. “N-no...” 

Kiyoko gave him a small smile. “That’s all right, I dislike history, too.” Hinata’s heart skipped a beat at that statement, and Kiyoko opened the box and pulled out a small, fine circlet of gold and mother-of-pearl. He could feel the magic seeping from it, like a vibration in the seawater around him.

“It looks like a tail ornament,” Hinata remarked.

Kiyoko nodded. “It’s to be fitted to the tail of a merling, yes. During the ancient wars, when merfolk and landfolk were bent on destroying each other, this was an important instrument—commonly used by our best sirens, who would seduce human kings and kill them in their sleep.”

Hinata was very willing to learn history, if it was Kiyoko speaking. He nodded enthusiastically.

“But magic is never without a counterweight,” Kiyoko added, and now her voice took on a different tone—the tone of one who had studied under the best water witches, and had the power to destroy the Seastone City if she so pleased. “This band draws power from the immense pain a merling feels when they put it on, and whenever the full moon comes.” 

Her piercing blue gaze flicked to him. “And yet you want it.”

Hinata froze. 

Kiyoko smiled reassuringly. “Don’t be so shocked,” she said, waving a hand. “Everyone knows your odd fascination with the things above the waves, even me in my lair. Yachi tells me her worries a lot.”

Hinata frowned at Yachi, and she laughed nervously. “S-sorry?”

Kiyoko approached him, the Havfine band still in her hand. This close, Hinata could really feel the magic emanating from it, and he could see the swirls written into the gold. “Tell me, my prince—what makes you want to go on land? Humans are treacherous.” Distaste tinged Kiyoko’s voice. “They wage wars between each other for the pettiest of reasons. They fight over things as baseless as pride. They would stab you in the back if they don’t like you.”

Hinata briefly remembered the human he had saved, who had looked so _devastated,_ who was probably left behind by his own men. Hinata shifted uncomfortably.

Kiyoko was close now, towering over him by an inch. “What makes you want to go on land?”

 _She’s intimidating me,_ Hinata realized. He had spent a lot of time being intimidated by others—his tutors, his mother, his father. All of them trying to scare him off of making his own decisions, trying to scare him into following their orders, follow the norm—that he shouldn’t fight, because he was small, that he should just obey, because he was young. 

But never once did their intimidation work.

Hinata stared at Kiyoko dead straight into her eyes. “I’m to be king,” he told her. He tilted his head. “Do you know how I learn of how to be king?  
“Every day I sit down before my tutors and they prattle on about politics and ethics and history, tell me the lives of great rulers before me. What they did, and why I should copy them. But they never tell me what it is to have such a responsibility. What it’s like to have people rely on you, what it is to fight with the skin of your teeth to save your people, the pressure of making decisions.

“I tell my father about this, and all he says is that I’m too young to learn about such things. He does not even let me train troops. But if I don’t learn now—when? Thirty years from now? Forty?” Hinata shook his head. “My father has decades of lifespan before him, I know, and it’s too soon for me to even think of succeeding him—but it doesn’t erase the fact that I must know these things before putting his crown on my head. And I won’t learn them here. I know I won’t.”

Kiyoko stared at him, eyes wide—her blue irises seemed to be holding respect for him, as if she was... _impressed._

And for the third time, Hinata blushed. 

Thankfully Kiyoko didn’t see it, because she was already turning away. “Well... be that as it may, I cannot lend this to you.” She placed the band back in its box and shut it tight. “I serve the king, and I doubt he wants his son in the company of humans.”

Kiyoko swam back to her shelf and tucked the blue coffer behind some books and bottles. “Now, if there isn’t anything else you need...”

 

Yachi and Hinata left shortly after, the mermaid shivering slightly. 

“What is it?” Hinata asked, concerned.

Yachi shook her head. “Nothing... you were just making such a scary face when you told Kiyoko your reason...”

Hinata frowned, touching his face. “I was?” He smiled at Yachi happily. “I didn’t know I could be scary!”

 

“Kenma. _Kenma.”_

Kenma knew who spoke before he even opened his eyes. “What is it..?” he asked groggily, turning on his side. Hinata was hovering over him, lip bit and face apprehensive. He was also holding a bag. _Why is he holding a bag?_ Kenma wondered.

“I need your help,” Hinata said.

Kenma sighed. “The last time you spoke to me like that, you had stolen Kuroo’s sword.” He rubbed at his eyes. “What did you steal this time?”

Hinata looked away hesitantly, then drew something out of his bag—a circlet made of gold and mother-of-pearl, the aura of magic all over it.

Kenma groaned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I WOULD LIKE TO THANK ALL OF THE PEOPLE WHO MADE SUCH LOVELY COMMENTS LIKE... I WAS SO OVERWHELMED... BLESS YOU ALL. YOU ARE ALL SAINTS!!! 
> 
> Lemme just tell y'all right now that I'm a history nut. Not quite a... fantasy nut. Would you believe I was first trying to figure out mermaids through science??? Then I realized that would be impossible... damn mermaids. Super fantasy-fantasy is /not/ my strong suit. XD  
> The realistic parts of this story--ships, politics, piracy and naval whatevers, those I get. But mermaids??? Where in history were there mermaids?????
> 
> Which is why this took some time. I researched on the seabed and cried because the fish there are scary af hory sheet. But as for actual mermaids--I was relying on Andersen and his book isn't that helpful. Made Hinata this merman who wants to go on land because of his desire to learn and improve, like how Ariel's was to learn and be accepted (before meeting Eric). Please tell me what you think about the way I portray mermaids! 
> 
> hoho! Kuroo's tail is black bc of his name. Lev's tail is gray bc of his name.
> 
> Also: the pirates staying on Miyagi is inspired by the Pirate Republic of Nassau, if anyone's interested. And the sea kingdoms are more or less similar to the city-states. Not that I'll be focusing on them too much. In chapter seven and beyond, it's gonna be focusing on more realistic shizzles
> 
> ALSO: Do you think I should change the story summary? lol
> 
> also can i just say my codes were being weird the first few times i was trying to post this... if you see something weird, please tell me :D (and im very new to this whole ao3 sh'bang)


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